Page 28 of The Trailer Park Twink

It’s been two-fucking-days since Dallas busted multiple loads in front of me.

Two days since I shoved my tongue inside his asshole like a complete and utter slut.

Which, yeah. Absolutely true. My God, it was like every muscle in his hole was trying to prove how much he loves me.

A silent declaration, bubble wrapped by the hair in his crack.

I know Daddy, and I know he’s working through this.

He just gets lost in his head sometimes.

It’s not something I fault him for. Two days ago, when I woke up in his arms, he warned me he might be a little distant.

He told me he was still trying to figure out what happens next, and his mind was racing a mile a minute.

I don't ever want to take more than I give with Dallas, so I did what a good son does.

I took a step back. I got lost in my phone as the twisting highway stole Daddy's focus.

And I was okay with that. I'm happy enough to simply exist in a space with Dallas without words, but then he asked if I wanted to drive.

This truck is his baby, and the only other time he’s let me drive her was just after I turned nineteen.

Mom refused to let me take Drivers’ Ed in school, and then after I graduated, she wouldn't take me to driving classes, telling me I was a big boy, perfectly capable of walking ten miles to the Department of Public Safety.

Hard pass. I'm a pillow princess. Pillow princesses aren't pedestrians. That's just silly.

When Dallas entered the picture, I told him how much I wanted it, and he swore to help me without missing a beat.

He knew it would make me feel more like a man, and he wanted to guide me through it.

Like a father. For three months, he taught me to drive by playing Mario Kart for five hours a night, every single night.

Even the nights when he had to pull a double at the machine shop.

Then, when he finally thought I was ready for the real thing, he handed me the keys to his truck and hopped into the passenger-side seat, leaving me alone to guide the wheel of his jacked-up-to-Jesus pickup truck.

Two minutes later, I drove into a light post .

Mistakes were made. Apologies were not, because it was his silly idea in the first place.

I mean, the truck is essentially a tank, and I’m just a thimble of a man who can barely see over the steering wheel.

After that, he went out and bought me my own car.

It was used, but it was something that was mine. Something he got special, just for me.

It feels like we've been driving forever.

Once I finally got behind the wheel, he fussed over my every move, being a real fucking jerk, if I'm being completely truthful, but that's okay.

Daddy's sexy when he looks like he's in genuine fear for his life, because apparently I drive like someone from some goddamn racing movie franchise he watched once and won't shut up about.

Mother of Fuck, Dallas ranted the whole damn hour, right up to when we got stuck behind the freeway flasher.

Allow me to paint the picture: Little old me sitting behind a steering wheel that rests halfway up my face.

Ideal? No, but this tantalizing twink can roll with the punches.

I was driving down the interstate, singing along to a familiar song I don't know the words to, belting out, "Hello, Daddy, my old friend.

Nice to fuck you in the ass again," at the top of my lungs, trying to make him giggle to stop him from fussing about my driving skills.

I wouldn't say we were having the time of our lives, but I pulled him out of his foggy headspace, guiding him back to me, even if only for a moment .

Unfortunately, the moment didn't last long, because there was an fucking pervert in the car ahead of us, and they seemed dead set on spoiling our trip. We were following an adorable pink Cadillac driving right down the center stripe, blocking both lanes. I was furious. Fucking fuming. Because of Dallas’ need to project pure, virile masculinity at all times, his truck is a gargantuan, so I couldn’t squeeze to the side and pass her.

Eventually, she came to a complete stop, and that’s when I flipped her off.

She didn’t even see it, but Dallas pulled me over his knee anyway, giving me a quick pop to the butt before forcing me to walk alongside him to check on the woman, because he said she could be having a medical emergency.

Medical emergency, my ass. She was she-bopping herself in the driver’s seat like a fucking madman, one hand on the wheel, the other exploring her secret garden, rolling her hips, crying out, “Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum,” like some busted-up porn version of Anne Murray.

It was a sight to be seen, but that doesn't mean I wanted to fucking see it.

“I don't understand," I said, shaking my head. “And I have an endless number of questions."

“Don’t ever flash your vaginal mound at my son again,” Dallas shouted at her, and there was so much raw emotion in his voice, it left me speechless.

And because Daddy is a gentleman through and through, he tipped his cowboy hat and said, “Evening, Ma'am.” He picked me up, placed me on his hip, and carried me back to the truck, putting his trust in me as he set me back behind the wheel again. Thankfully, our interaction with the roadway mastabateur gained me a bit of his trust back, and he apologized for not having faith in me. Since then, we haven’t pulled over for longer than an hour at a time.

He spends the days driving while I sleep, my hand holding his, right where it belongs.

Then it’s my turn at night, and he rests at my side, fingers weaved together, hearts fluttering, I'm sure.

When we're awake, it's mostly quiet, but our hands stay welded together like the steel drums he welds at the machine shop in Tallulah. Every now and then he gives me a squeeze. A gentle reassurance when he can’t get his words out.

“This is the place?” I ask as he pulls up to the cabin.

I can’t lie, it's fucking gorgeous. Ahead of us, there’s a log cabin that looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

It’s got a wrap-around porch that’s made of that really pretty red-looking wood.

I’d love to tell you what kind of wood it’s called, but I’m hardly an arborist, and I can't be expected to know these things. To my right, there’s a small lake with more cabins spread around, forming what almost looks to be the world’s largest cul-de-sac. It’s picturesque.

Dallas nods. “Aussie, I know I ain’t been the best company these last couple of days.

It’s just . . . I think everything’s finally starting to sink in.

” The admission makes my stomach twist into knots, because if our newly found romance hasn’t sunk in already, there’s still a chance he might change his mind.

I thought he was all-in. If he decides I’m not worth all the effort, it will absolutely demolish me.

Put a fork in me, because I’ll be done. I'm feeling more than a little scared, and I need some form of connection with him, so I place my finger on the brim of his hat and trace it left to right.

“Dallas?” I whisper, and he must see the nervousness in my eyes, because he quickly shakes his head.

“It’s Daddy,” he assures me, removing his hat and placing it on my head.

I love the way his hair gets matted down each time he pulls it off.

He usually just hangs it on the nail he banged halfway into the wall in our living room, and there have been several times I'm snuck in there at night, placed the hat over my face, and inhaled Daddy as hard as I could, needing a whiff of the man I love. “It's Daddy forever, Austin.”

My lip trembles a little. “Yeah?”

“You have my word.” He nods and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Stepping out of the truck, he walks around and opens my door. He doesn’t set me down, thank God, just places me on his hip and walks me toward the shore.

The property is right on the water, so it’s not a terribly far journey, and I cling to him the whole way, my face buried in his neck, breathing him .

“We lived here when I was little,” he says, stroking my back.

“Momma, Daddy, and me. It feels right to have you here with me. It’s almost like I’m introducing you to them.

They always wanted a grandson. I think they would have been proud to call you theirs.

” I feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I think that’s what I’m struggling with.

You’re my son, Aussie. That’s how you’ve always felt, and now things are changing.

Feelings are changing, and I’m just feeling a little scared. ”

I pull back and look into his eyes. “Scared of being with me?”

“Never. Scared of how people are going to see us. I’m your stepdad, and there’s no telling what Shelly’s going to tell everybody when she finds out we left.”

As for being scared about what my mother tells the rest of the trailer park, I’m not. At all. Not in the slightest. In fact, I feel about ninety-eight pounds lighter than I did before we left, mainly because I am.